


Run With the Wolves

by branclonsaads



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gay Bar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/branclonsaads/pseuds/branclonsaads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the last few completely suck-tastic weeks he’s had, a night out to let loose and have some fun without any werewolf-y drama is just what Stiles needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run With the Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time writing fic in a year, and therefore obviously my first time writing fic for Teen Wolf. I hope you enjoy it! I hope to a lot more for this fandom. The song that sort of inspired this is Wild Ones, by Flo Rida ft. Sia.

 

The heat of the multi-colored lights on Stiles’ back is oppressive, and the warmth of the bodies pressed up around him doesn’t really help. The stench of stale alcohol permeates the air, and the base line of too loud dance music rumbles through the floor and vibrates through his legs.

It’s _awesome._

After the last few completely suck-tastic weeks he’s had, a night out to let loose and have some fun without any werewolf-y drama is just what he needs.

And if he tells Scott he’s having dinner with his dad so he doesn’t have to explain why he’s going back to the gay bar to achieve this night of fun – well, that’s a matter for another day.

He squeezes through a last mess of people, sits down at one of the stools at the bar, and takes out the fake ID Erica scored for him. Thankfully the bartender is _not_ the one from the night Jackson went all lizard monster on the place, so he accepts it and Stiles orders himself a rum and Coke. He thanks the bartender and is about to turn to sit facing the dance floor when someone with a flurry of blonde hair tackles him from behind.

“JESUS!” he exclaims as Erica frees him from her hug and sits down next to him. “What are you doing here? In fact, how did you even get in? This is a GAY bar!”

She shrugs as she waves the bartender over.

“Just because it’s a gay bar doesn’t mean other people can’t have fun.” She smirks. “Also, did you really think I’d let you come without a wingwoman? You never would’ve bagged anyone, especially in those clothes.”

Stiles squawks in indignation, his eyes widening comically.

“Why does everyone think I can’t dress myself?!”

Erica finishes ordering her drink and levels a pointed look at his red hoodie, which, yeah. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn it, but can he help it if he wants to feel just a little bit more comfortable? He opens his mouth to protest, but the glare she gives him seems to make his arms involuntarily move to take it off. He passes it into her waiting hands, and she nods approvingly.

“Have you been working out?” she asks, gesturing to his arms. Stiles blushes.

“…. Yes.”

“Yeah, well keep doing it. It looks good on you.” She snorts. “Not that you’d ever know, considering all those layers you seem to love wearing so much.” Stiles rolls his eyes, and turns to survey the dance floor, sipping at his drink. She picks up the Cosmo that has been delivered to her and takes up a similar position, her topaz eyes scanning the crowd for dudes she deems acceptable for Stiles to dance with.

The people are so close to one another, they are almost indiscernible from one body to the next. But soon Stiles spots someone who might be an option. He’s of average height, with darker skin and short black hair, and kind of stocky. He looks like a good hugger. (Shut up, these things are important.) Dark brown eyes meet Stiles’ own, and he flashes a grin at the guy in an attempt to throw off his nerves. He nudges Erica.

“What about him?” he asks, pointing in the dude’s general direction. She inspects him for a moment, her lips pursed, and then shakes her head.

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p.’ She rolls her eyes somewhere off to her right, and Stiles follows her line of sight, curious to see who she’s picked for him.

And woah, did she have good taste. The guy is tall, though probably not much taller than Stiles, and has dark, sort of spiked hair. He’s wearing a leather jacket, but it is easy to see that he’s built. Like, _really_ built. And his _eyes_. It’s like they’re staring into his soul. Stiles swallows anxiously and shakes his head.

“Erica, _look_ at him, he’s totally out of my league! He’d never even acknowledge me, let alone dance with me,” he sighs, leaning back against that bar.

Erica shoots him a look he doesn’t even know how to begin analyzing, so he doesn’t bother trying.

“ _No_ ,” he says forcefully.

“Fine,” she snarks, pouting. And they go back to searching.

It goes on like that for almost twenty minutes, with Stiles finding perfectly acceptable guys only to have Erica shoot them down, and with Erica picking these tall, dark and mysterious men that wouldn’t want anything to do with him in a million years. To be perfectly honest, it’s beginning to get frustrating.

“Stiles, _I_ liked you! Just look at _me_! Why do you think you’re so undesirable to people?” Erica exclaims.

“I don’t think I’m undesirable to pe – “ Erica shoots him one of the most condescending looks he’s ever been on the receiving end of. “Okay, well maybe I kind of do, but it’s not just that!”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s the fact that they all – you’re picking all – “

“Who am I picking, Stiles?” She questions. “Who am I picking that is just that intimidating to you, huh?”

“You’re picking guys that all look like Derek!” He shouts. A couple of heads turn, the surrounding people surprised at the sudden outburst. The flash of what looks like a smile crosses Erica’s face, but Stiles shakes his head. That would be crazy, why would she be excited about that, right?!

“And why does that bother you?” she pushes.

God, does he really have to do this now?

“Yes, you do,” states Erica, and crap, he said that out loud didn’t he? Well, there’s no going back now.

“That _bothers_ me because I already know that a guy like Derek is most _definitely_ not interested in a guy like me, okay? In fact, I’d go as far to say that they’d probably hate me!”

“Why would they hate you?” Erica asks, confused.

“Because Derek hates me! And if the guy I actually have a raging werewolf-y crush on hates me, what kind of luck could I ever have with someone similar to him?” Stiles flails his arms, as if to emphasize his point, but then freezes with his limbs high in the air as his brain catches up to his mouth. Erica is looking at him with a really, _really_ creepy mixture of fondness, triumph, and ‘God Stiles you’re such an idiot’ written all over her face. He eyes her warily.

“What?” he says uneasily. “Why are looking at me like that?” She doesn’t respond.

Oh god. Oh my god.

“What do you know that I don’t?” He panics and grabs her by the shoulders. “Erica, seriously, what are you planning? This is one of your devious, evil spy missions isn’t it?” She just grins at him, eyes wide with mirth. Oh, that sneaky little _minx_. “Oh god, I _knew_ I should have gone to Danny for an ID, shit shit shit –“ A heavy hand clamps down on his own shoulder, and he gulps as Erica pushes him off her and backwards into a solid wall of what feels like leather. When he turns around, he jumps even though knows exactly who it is.

“Derek,” he squeaks, before clearing his throat. “Heeeeey,” he says awkwardly.

“Stiles,” he responds shortly, glaring at Erica. Stiles looks over his shoulder at her, but she doesn’t look the slightest bit ashamed of herself. She just smirks and takes a long, victorious sip of her drink. Derek sighs, and takes Stiles by the hand – by the hand oh my god what alternate universe has he fallen into that drink must have had more alcohol in it than he thought – before leading him to a darker corner of the dance floor. Derek stops walking and stuffs his hands into his pockets, staring at Stiles’ with what has to be the weirdest expression – his eyebrow is quirked like it is when he’s annoyed, which most of the time is directed towards Stiles, but his face tells a completely different story. Instead of seeming perpetually exasperated, he just looks amused – and do his eyes really seem _fond_? Stiles blinks, looks around for melting clocks or a white rabbit with a pocket watch, because this has _got_ to be a dream. His mouth opens to say try and say something, ask him what’s going on, but nothing seems to come out.

“Stiles.”

And just like that, Stiles realizes. _Fuck._

“You heard that entire conversation, didn’t you?”

“Yep.” Stiles sighs, and his shoulders slump slightly.

“Look man,” he stutters, “if you could just pretend you never heard that conversation, that would be awesome!” When Derek doesn’t say anything, just looks at him in slight confusion, he continues, unable to stop himself.  “Because then you could forget about it and I could forget about it and move on because I mean, hello, it’s just a stupid crush right?” He shuffles his feet, in an attempt to start leaving this increasingly embarrassing conversation. “I mean I’ll be over it tomorrow, it’s that lame, and this is obviously all Erica’s fault anyway, and I’m just gonna skedaddle now, okay, it was great talkin’ with ya Derek –“

A strong hand grabs his bicep before he can move very far and tugs him tripping into the solid warmth that is Derek’s chest. Stiles gulps and slowly drags his focus to Derek’s eyes, unable to stop himself from lingering on his lips.

“Um, dude,” Stiles asks, licking his own lips nervously. “What are you doing?” Derek just gives him a withering look.

“Stiles.”

“Yes,” he squeaks.

“Shut up.” Before Stiles can retaliate with his rapier wit, Derek is covering his mouth with his own, pressing firmly but gently, heating Stiles from the inside out. He makes a noise of surprise – _he doesn’t hate me!_ \- that is quickly swallowed by Derek’s lips, blinks his still open eyes, and only then does Stiles finally react. He presses back, lets his eyelids slip closed, sliding their lips together. They don’t match up quite right at first, and their noses bump a few times, but soon they find a rhythm. Stiles tugs lightly at Derek’s bottom lip, teasing a growl of out him. Derek swipes his tongue along Stiles’ lips, deepening the kiss, and he obediently opens his mouth in response. It’s a warm weight in his mouth, tangling with his own tongue, making the kiss more needy, more desperate, more – drooly. Blech. Stiles finally pulls away, wiping at his lips.

“That,” he says, breathing hard, “was _awesome._ ” Derek just rolls his eyes, an honest to goodness smile pulling at the edges of his mouth.

“Ha!” Stiles grins, pointing at him accusingly. “You can smile! Who knew making out made you less of a sourwolf, I would have tried kissing you much sooner.” Derek just grabs his hand again, and tries to lead Stiles out of the club.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” He protests. “I came here to dance, so we’re gonna dance!” Derek’s eyes narrow.

“No.”

“Um, yes!” Derek tries again to get Stiles to come with him, but he won’t budge.

“If you really want me to do something, you’re gonna have to use your words, buddy.” Stiles says triumphantly. “Your Mr. Grumpy impression isn’t going to work on me anymore.” Derek sighs, shaking his head.

“Fine,” he says. “But just this once.”

“Ha, we’ll see about that,” Stiles responds. “If I have enough fun, we’re coming back here for every anniversary until we’re old and graying.” Derek scowls, but he follows Stiles out onto the dance floor. A new song is just starting up, Stiles’ current favorite song to jam out to – by which he means dance embarrassingly to - when it comes the radio.

“Why did you even come here, anyway, if you knew Erica was up to something?” He shouts over the music, shimmying up into Derek’s space. Under the bright lights, Stiles almost misses Derek’s blush – almost. “You’re blushing!” He crows. “This has got to be good, you’ve gotta tell me why you showed up.” Derek sighs for what Stiles thinks has to be the millionth time that night, clearly resigned to his fate. 

“She said she was going out this club to help you find a boyfriend.” Stiles’ mouth drops open in shock, realizing what Derek is implying.

“Oh my god, you were jealous!” He exclaims, beaming. Derek shakes his head, in a sad, sad attempt to deny it. “Don’t even try to say that’s not how it was, you were _so_ jealous!” Derek just wraps his arms tightly around Stiles and begins to move them in time to the music, doing a _thing_ with his hips that is actually rendering Stiles speechless. The only thing he can do is hum softly into Derek's ear in an attempt to frustrate him in the same way.

" _Take me now, running with wolves and I'm on the prowl_ ," he finishes in a low voice, slightly out of tune. Derek growls in response, biting softly into his neck where he has been intently sucking a bruise. Stiles moans and forces Derek's head back up, because the only possible thing left to do is press his mouth to Derek's and kiss him again, and again, and again.


End file.
